Brothers and Sisters
by eirabach
Summary: Three moments in the relationship between Rose and the Doctor's children. Obviously 10/Rose, Alt!Verse, and post-Journey's End. Possibly bordering on the surreal, evidently baby!fic. After a fashion.
1. A Hand to Hold

**A/N: A study in the relationship between Rose and the Doctor's children - three life-altering moments in the alt!verse. They do have names by the way. I just found it a more interesting experience in character study if I didn't use them. You want to know what they are? Review and I'll tell you! :P**

**Again, like all my fic this takes place in the alternative universe in which the Doctor and Rose have grown their own TARDIS.  
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**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to the BBC. Those you don't recognise belong to me. This is true of all chapters.  
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**A Hand to Hold**

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He's snuck in, breaking cardinal rule number one in the process, but he believes that this is much more important than any silly old rule. Anyway, his Mum's sleeping, and his Dad is watching her in that disconcerting way that makes him feel like he really should just have stayed in his room.

Not that he really blames his Dad, all that screaming and shouting earlier had scared him too, and he'll be keeping a close eye on Mum for the next few days. A close eye on Mum, and one on this new person who has cried more in the last few hours than he's sure he's cried in his whole life. There've been far too many tears today. Even his Dad has shed a few, and he never, ever, ever cries; and it is all due to this little thing: this sister.

She doesn't look much to him. When Dad had put her in his arms and told him her name she'd just sort of wriggled and then spat on his arm. _Mum says spitting is rude_ he'd told her and his Dad had sort of snorted and then he'd sort of cried. He'd pretended not to see of course, but he still thinks a bit of spit and a pink wriggly thing aren't really worth crying over. He peers between the bars of the cot, squinting to try and see what all the fuss is about, but the pink wriggly sister just huffs and moves one thin arm in her sleep. He can do that. He wonders if Mum and Dad cry over him spitting and breathing and moving his arm. He hopes not; the thought rather disturbs him.

He's already noted her orange hair that looks like it might make a wonderful crayon, and Dad's already explained to him that she's different to him because she's a girl, but he can't see much else that marks her out as special. He's about to sneak back to his own room and consider it at greater leisure when she opens her eyes.

Their eyes meet, blue on blue – though one will change soon enough – and something sparks inside his mind. Next to Dad's flickering burning presence and Mum's fleeting golden mist – gone then back so quickly he cannot follow it - is a new mind, a new link shining blue and green and filling his head with thoughts and feelings that aren't his own. He thinks he might have been lonely, but the thought has never occurred to him before. This sister watches him with wide eyes, but she doesn't cry, and with her untidy mind filled with unformed thoughts she shows him something brilliant. He doesn't cry, and she can't yet smile, but they reach for each other all the same.

Mum finds them sleeping; her in the cot, him curled up on the floor.

They're still holding hands.


	2. Run

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**Run

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They've spent their whole lives running; in fear or just for the joy of living, it varies. Neither of them consider anything else; no other way of life occurs to them. For them this is how the universe works; they've never known any different.

This first time, then, the first time they realise that their lives aren't like those of any other creature in the vast expanse of the multiverse that they call home, is a wake-up call.

They've been gods before, worshipped and feared in equal measures, held the power of creation in their hands long before they were strong enough to bear the responsibility, and long before they were cynical enough to use it for their own gain. They've been hated too; sworn at, hissed at, and loathed for no other reason than their existence, but for most of their lives they've been loved and loved in return, and for them running has always been a game.

This is the first time they realise it's not.

Blood has been spilt already, and lies in slick puddles as they throw themselves down corridor after corridor, not noticing the pain of bashed elbows and twisted ankles, only aware of the clamminess of their hands as they cling to each other - first one leading then the other - but always together. The screams and cries that follow them are drowned out by the sounds of their own terrified heartbeats.

There's no breath for conversation, even if there was the time, even if they knew what to say, and the link between their minds lies silent; hollow. Their palms slip together as they turn another corner, and slide apart as the boy spins round, pushing his sister behind him into a doorway that leads to who knows where. She calls for him, as best she can, and in return he begs her to run, run anywhere, run faster without him, and through his own fear knows that he has to keep her safe. Unarmed, he turns to face the darkness, and before she can reach for him, the doorway is closed.

The hollow space in her mind seems to ring out, the silence filling her ears with buzzing and her insides with an awful sickness. All her life he's been there. Now he's gone.

When they find her she's still screaming his name.


	3. Family of Blood

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**Family of Blood

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**

They are being watched.

The prickles that run down the backs of their necks are old friends now; their arms naked without their covering of goose-bumps. Neither is what they once were; both older and harder, and a little more like the father who tried to keep them from the darkness and failed so wonderfully.

They forgave him that.

_Or will do, or are doing_, she laughs, but it's not the laugh it once was, and the girl she was then is long gone. He is silent. He'll be silent for a long time yet.

There's blood on their hands.


End file.
